Category Archives: domesticity

April 12, 2025

Just walked around the block in a light drizzle — the snow from last night gone. There are at least five Seders happening on my street right now. If I’d stayed inside, I wouldn’t have known. This, for some reason, makes me sad. Ken is watching Antiques Roadshow. We had leftovers for dinner. Can you believe it’s been less than 100 days?

Considering publishing chapters here of various forays into fiction that may never go on to being part of a novel.

Then again, why?

Also, hesitating to publish recent rants. Is it true what they’re saying about phones being grabbed and searched at airports? We go to Boulder in a few weeks. If I bring my cane will I look less like a sharp-tongued critic of the regime? The slippery slope is greased with rancid oil. Whoops!

Speaking of disgusting, those are not ancho chilies. They’re desiccated, frozen bananas and they could date back ten years. Today we tackled a few shelves of the upstairs freezer. It’s nice when things are so clearly meant for the garbage!

We intended to go to the local dump’s paper shredding hours this morning but were too late. So instead I threw out archives related to my sister directly into recycling. Tax returns, applications for subsidized housing, student debt relief correspondence, SSDI advocacy letters, ECOB application to cover COBRA payments until MassHealth kicked in, correspondence with utilities, landlords, banks. On and on and on. The weight of it all. But what to say that hasn’t been said? At least I could comfortably bundle up the piles and toss them without worry. There’s no identity left to steal.

Warranty and Royalty

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When the water heater died yesterday, we assumed we were probably three months past warranty. Or, you know, two weeks. Turns out it was a 12-year warranty! We saved a bundle.

I’ve picked up needle and thread again. It means no Danish or French murder mysteries for a while (or to be honest, Scottish). It also means cursing at the fifteenth attempt to thread a needle.

Note to self: thread a dozen needles in the bright afternoon sun. Have them ready to go. Note to self: not one but two friends gave you needle threaders for Christmas. Use them!

And regarding the upstairs furnace? Because the first floor is heated, it turns out we don’t really need the attic one on at night. Revelation.

I’ll end with a question: from time to time do you fall in love with a stranger? And if so who? The server at the coffee shop or your mailman or somebody on TV?

For me, last night it was the guest on The Daily Show talking about the organization he and another former inmate formed to help fire-trained former felons segue into firefighting as a profession. He had the best smile, such beautiful gestures, and the brightest spirit.

You probably love him a little now too.

Watching my husband rally in his broad competence to install a new water heater has me falling a little back in love with him too.

It’s out of the teens and — poop?

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It’s out of the teens but still pretty cold. The upstairs furnace is dying and never kicked on last night. I can hear it trying. Ken usually rises before I do and today is no exception. Before he heads down to make coffee, he slides the curtains open making the metal ring-clips go clickety clack.

“Fire up my blanket,” I say from under the comforter.

That would be my electric blanket. The greatest new possession since the Dyson battery-operated stick vacuum arrived.

Today’s the reading at Newtonville Bookstore. I’m pretty excited. Thank you all again for your words of encouragement.

And there’s this. Boulder Bookstore. Notice anything? D. took these pix yesterday.

PS is there something wrong with me that I fully expected to see the constipated cow on All Creatures Great and Small take a massive and relieving dump and was disappointed to be denied? Yes. The answer is yes. But you know what? I was properly pleased to hear Maddow announce recently that she has an eight-year-old’s sense of humor and will forever find poop references funny. “And farts!” I might’ve said aloud to the TV.

PPS The other time I recently responded out loud to the TV was when that river cruise ad came on. “Shut her up!” You know the one that plays before PBS programming? I swear the announcer has a fake British accent. It’s a win if we get it muted before she says, “iconic landscapes.” Ugh.

PPPS. Best screen moment yesterday was reading this letter. Maybe it’s only a delay, BUT IT MATTERS.

Catch up. Sleep and pix

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Falling asleep on the couch.

Shared this ornament elsewhere but had to again. Isn’t it something else?

And somehow this botched ginger cake turned into an excellent bread pudding.

Hope everyone had a lovely holiday.

A little snow, a little sleep

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The snow was predicted but surprised us nevertheless. So often the forecast says it’s coming and then it just doesn’t. Four inches? Almost. It’s pretty.

Finally settled on a Christmas Eve menu. I waffled a lot. Not like me.

Our dog-sitter canceled last night for our December 30th trip to Denver. Last night! I didn’t panic however and found someone else on the Rover app within the hour. Super nice guy.

We met with him today. Now that Finn is ten and has settled down quite a bit, we describe him very differently than we would have even two years back.

Finn right after he came to live with us. Six months old. He was an anxious pup.

He has his habits. He likes to go in his downstairs crate before we go up to bed. At night, he starts in his upstairs crate near us and then goes from room to room. He loves sleeping in my writing chair. He loves treats (that much hasn’t changed). Here’s how we fling them around the backyard and tell him to Find It!